


orpheus

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9229892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Slow or quick, vampire or accident, knowing what took her husband away wasn’t going to bring him back to her.(Alternate universe. Jenny's hurting, and tries to fix it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roca/gifts).



> for the lovely sophie. i'm still not over those earbuds.

Rupert had been out for a few hours longer than he’d said he would be; business must have picked up at the Magic Box. Never mind that the Magic Box was rarely very busy, or that he always sent one of the kids to tell her if he would be late for dinner. Jenny would wonder later why she didn’t stop and think, and suspect that it was because she didn’t want to worry. Or maybe she didn’t think that anything bad would happen to Rupert. She loved him too much for that.

She was reading a book, settled comfortably in a chair near the fire, one of Rupert’s jackets draped around her shoulders, when she heard footsteps. Light, like Willow’s, but strangely slow. Jenny felt the beginnings of worry in her chest, putting her book down slowly. Something didn’t feel right.

Willow came in. There was a shaken, horrified look on her face. Jenny didn’t have to hear it to know, and it didn’t matter how it happened anyway. Slow or quick, vampire or accident, knowing what took her husband away wasn’t going to bring him back to her.

* * *

Buffy came over, later, and Xander. Never mind that Jenny wanted to be alone. Buffy settled into the sofa and didn’t say anything; Xander filled the silence with nervous babble that seemed to grate in Jenny’s ears. She focused on her book and waited for them to leave.

“You aren’t going to _say_ anything?” Buffy’s voice was small, but still knife-sharp. “Ms. Calendar, Giles is _dead._ ”

Jenny turned a page of her book and cut her finger on the paper.

“He’s _dead,_ and you’re just sitting there _reading._ ”

Jenny put down the book and got up to go get a bandage, hurrying away from the kids and into the bathroom.

“Don’t do that,” she heard Willow saying tearfully to Buffy in the living room. “She’s more hurt than any of us, Buffy, remember when you almost lost Angel?”

Jenny opened the bathroom cabinet as loudly as she could, trying to drown out their voices, and almost ripped the small cabinet door off its hinges. She fumbled with the box of bandages before getting it open on the second try, at which point her legs gave way a little and she sunk to a sitting position on the floor. Her finger was still bleeding.

She didn’t know how she was feeling. Empty, mostly. Like some vital part of her had been scooped out and thrown away when she’d heard that Rupert was dead. It wasn’t as simple as denial, and it wasn’t as convoluted as guilt.

Someone knocked on the door. Jenny didn’t know how to find the words to tell them whether or not to come in, so she began to work on bandaging her finger instead.

“Ms. Calendar?” There was a note of anxiety in Willow’s voice. The kids had known for hours before, Jenny realized. They’d found the body. They’d had to tell her. If she could, she would feel sorry for putting them through that.

Another knock, and then, “Okay, I’m just going to come in.”

Jenny finished with the bandage as Willow sat down next to her, resting her head on Jenny’s shoulder. She didn’t know what to say, and didn’t even know if she could find it in herself to speak.

“Buffy’s grieving,” Willow said, slowly and carefully. “You are too, I think. I just don’t know if she’s in a place to understand that you’re not going to be loud about it.” She hesitated, then, “I think she hoped someone would be loud about it.”

Jenny nodded slowly and let Willow take her hand. “You’re a smart kid,” she said finally. Her throat closed up a little and she suddenly realized why, exactly, she’d been trying not to say anything. It had been a very long time since she’d wanted to cry like this.

Willow bit her lip. “I don’t know if I’m smart _enough_ ,” she replied quietly. “And—I don’t mean that like you’re supposed to stroke my ego, right now, because I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone you loved that much, but—” She looked over at Jenny and said somewhat tearfully, “I just wish I could help you.”

Jenny hugged her. It was a little awkward; she wasn’t much of a hugger. Willow was, though, and that sort of saved the hug. Rupert was a hugger too, actually. _Had been,_ Jenny thought, and the shock of grief that hit her then was enough for her to pull away from Willow, hard.

“I have to go,” she said, suddenly.

“What—” Willow looked frightened by this. “Ms. Calendar, _no,_ you need—”

“Some air,” said Jenny. There was a tightness in her chest and she wouldn’t let Willow see her cry. “I need some air. I’ll be right back.” She got up clumsily—why hadn’t she taken off her heels? She should have factored that fashion choice in. You never know when the kids are going to come home to tell you your husband’s dead, and it’s hard to walk steadily in heels with that news weighing on you. Jenny felt nauseous, and she felt like crying, and she felt that gnawing emptiness, all in one. She didn’t look at Buffy as she hurried out of the apartment.

Being outside was better, and it was worse. Jenny remembered standing out here with Rupert, wearing his overcoat. _I’m London-born,_ he was saying, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his waist to make sure he was warm too. _This is practically summer for me, darling._

No one had called her _darling_ before. Or maybe they might have, but it had never really felt like something special until Rupert, who had barely been able to use the informal _Jenny_ even when they were friends. She knew he wasn’t the type to give out pet names so easily.

Hadn’t been.

She was still wearing Rupert’s coat, wrapped around her from when she’d been reading the book on the sofa. He’d draped it around her shoulders before he’d left for the shop, telling her to keep warm. But Jenny had never been this cold before, and she didn’t know if she’d ever feel warm again.

“Hey.”

Jenny turned. Buffy was standing next to her, expression unreadable. “Hi,” she replied, inclining her head quietly before digging her hands into the pockets of Rupert’s coat. Or—did the coat belong to him at all if he was dead? She decided not to think about it.

“I’m sorry,” said Buffy.

Jenny shook her head distantly. “He’s dead,” she said. It came out hollow.

“I—” Buffy hesitated. Then, “I know—it’s different for you. It has to be. But—I loved him too.”

Jenny smiled slightly.

“If that helps.”

“It does.” Jenny took her hands out of her pockets, bringing her arms close to her chest. “A little.”

Buffy nodded. “I’m gonna go inside and make dinner,” she said carefully. “I know you’re not much of a cook.”

And suddenly that was _it_ for Jenny. It was so stupid, really, that that was the thing that made her so determined to find a way to get her husband back. But no one was going to be there to cook, and Rupert had always said she’d burn down the house if he left her alone (lovingly, laughingly, over morning coffee), and wouldn’t he be so upset if she died from a cooking fire instead of the dramatic and heroic death he always seemed to think she was destined for? “Yeah,” she said, and fumbled in her pocket for her car keys. “Listen, I have to do some research. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Ms. Calendar—”

“Mrs. Giles,” said Jenny. The name had to live on somehow.

* * *

She didn’t find much in the Magic Box, but there was blood on the floor of the store. Her husband’s blood. Not a lot, but enough to make Jenny dizzy and sick. She hadn’t seen the body yet, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t even know how he died; she hadn’t been able to hear the kids when they were telling her.

The kids weren’t here, which was a good thing, because the reality of the situation had finally caught up with Jenny. Rupert was dead. Rupert was dead. The best thing in her world, and he’d died like he was just another Sunnydale casualty. Jenny felt her knees give way ( _again_ ) and suddenly she was crying.

Rupert hadn’t ever seen her cry like this. There was that as a comfort. But then she was thinking about how horrified he’d be to see her like this, how worried and flustered, how his eyes would get all anxious and he’d sit down next to her, hands fluttering from her hair to her face to her shoulders. He never seemed to know what to do when she cried, and she loved him for it.

Loved. She couldn’t _love,_ because he was dead. And he’d already given her the if-I-die-don’t-resurrect-me speech, so dark magic wasn’t exactly an option. He’d be so upset with her if she did that. Jenny wiped her face with the sleeve of Rupert’s coat, and some of her makeup came off, which made her giggle semi-hysterically and bury her face in her hands.

She wished _she’d_ died instead of him. It would save her all the trouble of having to deal with all these feelings. Jenny wasn’t really big on lots of complex and passionate emotions; it was so much easier to just keep herself detached and coquettishly sarcastic. But then Rupert had showed up, and fucked that idea up completely, and she’d been _fine_ with that until he’d gone and _died_ on her.

Jenny took a shuddering, shaky breath in and finally managed to look up at the empty store. She had some research to do. Proper research, not crying-on-the-ground research.

“What are you doing?”

Anya’s sharp voice cut through the empty silence. Jenny scrambled to get up off the floor, trying to look as composed as she could. “Hey,” she said awkwardly.

“Why is there blood on the floor?” Anya added. “That’ll scare off the customers.”

 _Oh, God, she doesn’t know._ “I—” Jenny swallowed. “You should go head over to my place. The kids will explain.”

“What happened here?” Anya asked with unusual nervousness.

“I—”

Anya pressed her lips together before saying uneasily, “Is everyone okay?”

Jenny tried to think of something to say. Part of her couldn’t really bring herself to say it. She hadn’t yet said it aloud, and words had lasting power. If she admitted out loud that Rupert was dead, maybe there would be no way of getting him back. “No,” she said finally.

“Giles is dead, isn’t he?”

Jenny felt the words like a physical blow. “I need to—go,” she said shakily. “I was—I need to leave.”

Anya swallowed hard. “Xander isn’t at home,” she said in a strangled voice. “And when I headed over to Giles’s place, everyone was there but him and you. And now you’re here in the Magic Box and there’s blood on the floor and if Giles was anything but dead, you’d be with him.” She took a step forward, catching Jenny’s hands. “Your hands are cold,” she added. “I think you need to sit down.”

“I have research to do,” Jenny replied shortly, trying to pull away from Anya’s grip.

“Research on _what?_ ” Anya looked honestly befuddled.

“Getting him back.”

For a moment, Jenny almost regretted telling Anya. She wasn’t even sure why she had. Maybe it was because Anya was older than the kids, even if she didn’t act like it. Maybe it was because she wanted to justify why she was researching in the place where her husband died instead of actually grieving like a normal person. Either way, it turned out to be the right decision, because after a moment, Anya’s jaw set and she said, “Then I think I can help.”

* * *

They packed their things. They might have had to do it surreptitiously under other circumstances, but then Anya said that no one was expecting either of them to leave, so no one would really be on the lookout. Jenny didn’t pack all that much; nothing really seemed important anymore and she couldn’t bring herself to fuss over outfit choices. Rupert was the fussy packer of them both. He _was._ And he would still be, because Anya said she knew how to get him back.

She found one of her old necklace chains and strung Rupert’s wedding ring from it, fastening it around her neck. Willow had given it to her when she’d returned, saying something about managing to get it before Buffy called the police.

There was a spot of blood on the metal. Jenny didn’t know whether to leave it there or wipe it away, and decided not to do anything about it until she was sure of what she wanted. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she hurried out of the apartment (it didn’t feel like _home_ anymore, not really) to where Anya was waiting by the car.

“You ready to drive?” Anya asked. “Or should I drive? I read somewhere that grieving people are more prone to irrational behavior, and if that includes running us into a stop sign or something—”

“I’m not a time bomb,” said Jenny shortly, and took the keys from Anya. “So where’s this friend of yours located?”

“Oh, he’s not a _friend_ exactly,” said Anya awkwardly. “He happened to be in the vicinity a few years ago when I was, uh,” she looked away from Jenny, “enacting some vengeance.”

“I see.”

“And I heard of him from D’Hoffryn, who always knows about this kind of thing, so my intel is pretty good on this one.” Anya opened the car door, getting in and buckling her seatbelt. Jenny followed suit, starting up the car. “He’s in LA, so we might have to drive for a while.”

“Sure,” said Jenny.

“Are you sure you can stay awake that long?” Anya inquired curiously.

Jenny thought of Rupert’s smile, the way his eyes radiated warmth. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded breakable, like it might shatter and take her along with it.

She stayed awake the whole night, and then some, driving and driving until the sun came up. She felt tired, but it was a tired that was easy to shake off when she was reminded of how important it was to get Rupert back. As quickly as possible, really. He wouldn’t even know he’d been gone. He’d come back, and he’d be all right. It would be all right.

Anya was asleep in the seat next to her. Jenny envied the peaceful look on her face. She sometimes wondered if Anya really even loved Xander, or if she just loved the idea of Xander. Normalcy must be hard to come by if one is an ex-vengeance demon, and maybe Xander was as normal as normal could get in Anya’s eyes. Maybe it was safer if Anya didn’t love Xander. Maybe Jenny hoped Anya didn’t love Xander, because someday Xander might die, and that peaceful look would be gone.

Her hands were tight around the steering wheel, and it was only when they started to ache that she remembered the way Rupert used to (everything was past tense now; she hated it) reach over and uncurl her fingers when she was angry.

When sunlight started streaming in through the car windows, Anya stirred. “We there yet?” she mumbled, rubbing an eye.

“Five minutes, I think,” Jenny replied. “If we’re going by your directions.”

Anya yawned luxuriously, stretching as she sat up, and then turned to Jenny. “How are you?” she asked.

“Tired,” said Jenny, and found that it was true, but couldn’t uncurl her fingers from the steering wheel.

“No, I—” Anya shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not good with this kind of thing,” she said finally. “I get the feeling Willow did it better. But you’re all hard edges and I haven’t seen you smile once.”

“My husband is dead,” Jenny said tersely.

“I know.” Anya wrung her hands. “But—but we’re going to get him back, so you can smile! It’s going to be okay. All of it. Pinky swear, Ms. Calendar—”

“Mrs. Giles,” said Jenny for the second time.

“I thought you didn’t change your name when you got married?” Anya inquired, distracted from whatever it was she was trying to do. Cheer Jenny up, perhaps.

“I’m changing it now.”

“You sound like Xander when he wants me to shut up.” Anya hesitated again. Then, “Mrs. Giles. I know you’re upset. But I want you to be okay.”

“Wanting,” said Jenny, pulling the car to a stop, “doesn’t make things happen. Is this the place you said your friend was at?”

“ _Jenny—_ ”

“Anya, I don’t want your sympathy,” Jenny replied, finally looking away from the road to meet Anya’s eyes. “I don’t need to be okay right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m okay, because I’ll be okay when we get him back. Got it?”

Anya nodded, still not looking quite convinced. “If this doesn’t work—”

“It is _going_ ,” said Jenny fiercely, “to work.” She opened the door and got out of the car, looking up at the building. “Is this—”

“Round the back,” Anya replied, getting out of the car herself and beginning to head towards a small door, ostensibly leading into a backyard. She looked back at Jenny, who hadn’t moved from her position next to the car. “You coming?”

“Just a sec,” Jenny replied. Anya turned and continued to walk. Jenny reached for the chain around her neck, lifting it up, and pressed a light kiss to Rupert’s wedding band. That terrifying grief tugged at her chest again, and she dropped the ring, hard, letting the chain keep it close to her heart. She hurried to catch up with Anya.

* * *

“A swimming pool,” said Jenny skeptically.

“I did say _round the back_ ,” Anya replied. “But I think you’re going to have to go the rest of it alone. I’ll wait, uh,” she gestured vaguely, “around here.”

“An _empty_ swimming pool.” Jenny looked up at Anya. “How long has it been since you’ve seen this guy?”

“You know what to do,” said Anya cryptically, and took out a pair of sunglasses from her purse, heading over to a nearby lounge chair. “You just have to take the plunge.”

“Take the—” Jenny threw her hands up in exasperation, stepping closer to the swimming pool. The bottom was concrete, and looked like an unpleasant landing. She thought she could make out a few pieces of jagged glass. Glancing over at Anya, she saw that her companion was sitting somewhat anxiously in the lounge chair, sunglasses perched on her head. Apparently, cool and unbothered wasn’t really Anya’s thing anymore. Maybe Rupert’s death had affected more people than she realized.

No. No, Rupert wasn’t dead. Rupert wasn’t going to _stay_ dead, at least. Jenny looked over at Anya, looked back at the diving board—

The glass twinkled in the sunlight at the bottom of the pool, and Jenny was reminded of the way Rupert’s glasses caught the sunlight on a warm summer day, right before he leaned in for a kiss. “Damn it,” she said quietly, fingers closing over her husband’s wedding ring, and sprinted up to the diving board, taking a running leap into the empty swimming pool.

The last thing she heard was Anya’s terrified shriek, and then she felt a strange sort of _pulling_ sensation that didn’t exactly feel like hitting hard concrete. She landed on her feet in a dark room, and reeled a little, sleep deprivation beginning to catch up to her.

So. Anya had been right.

Jenny looked up, and saw a gentleman wearing a butler’s uniform surveying her curiously. “It’s quite uncommon for one such as yourself to find their way here,” he said. “Usually it’s champions who come seeking glory, but I suppose we can—”

“Cut the crap,” said Jenny testily. “What do I have to do to get my husband back?”

The butler guy blinked. “Well, you certainly have faith,” he said. “Motivated by love—how romantic. Somewhat maudlin, I expect, given the nature of these trials—”

“I’m not here for _trials._ ” Jenny stared down the butler. “If I have to, I’ll fight you. I want Rupert back, and there’s no power on earth that can tell me he doesn’t deserve to live. You’ll give him to me right now or I’ll let your trials kill me on the spot.”

The butler now looked completely nonplussed. “Er,” he said.

Jenny quirked an eyebrow at him. “They’re not really _trials_ if I’m not _trying,_ ” she said. “And aren’t you Powers all about fairness? You’ll never know whether or not I’m worthy if I let myself die. Maybe I’m a martyr, or maybe I’m just kinda crazy. Either way, you’ve wasted your time with me. Give me my husband back.”

“You cannot just ask for life from the Powers that Be,” said the butler, now seeming somewhat irritable at this concept. “There must be something you will give us in return.”

“Tech support,” said Jenny.

The butler just looked at her.

“Well, okay, you’re all omnipotent powers, so I guess you don’t _need_ computers,” Jenny said, “which is pretty ridiculous, if you ask me, because I feel like it would really give you a sense of perspective on the way the world works today. Maybe you’d be more willing to give life to people who deserve it.”

The butler continued to just look at her. Then he said, “Do you truly love this man?”

“More than anything,” said Jenny, trying her best to keep her voice sharp and assertive. It broke a little in the middle.

“And do you truly believe that we are unwise to give him back to you?”

“He doesn’t need me,” Jenny replied. Her voice was suddenly unsteady. She hadn’t thought beyond _getting Rupert back,_ and doubt was beginning to set in. Was he at peace? Was he happy? She didn’t even know how he died. “He needs to live.”

The butler nodded slowly. Then, “If you are so certain that you are wiser than the Powers, and if there is no doubt in your heart, then I will only set you one trial, with no penalty to you should you fail. You have more bravery than many of the people who come here.”

“No,” said Jenny, laughing bitterly. “No. I’m just an idiot in love.”

The butler ignored this. “If you can walk up that stairway,” he gestured towards a winding spiral staircase, through which Jenny thought she could make out the early morning light she’d left behind, “without looking back once, know that we have given your husband the choice to follow you.”

“I’m sorry?” Jenny wasn’t sure what she’d missed. “What do you mean by _the choice?_ ”

“He may choose to live, or he may choose to remain at peace,” the butler replied simply. “If you truly love him, you will trust in his ability to make that choice.”

For the first time, Jenny felt a flicker of doubt in her plan. Sure, she could bring Rupert back, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that he might actually be at peace. He had filing to do, and bills to pay, and a wife who loved him, and she’d thought that maybe he’d want to come back for her sake. It was selfish of her to think that, maybe. Maybe he would just come back to make her happy, when he’d wanted to stay dead all along. She didn’t know if she could force him into that.

“Well?” The butler looked at her inquisitively.

Jenny thought of leaving here alone and telling Anya she hadn’t been able to go through with it. She’d go home to an empty house, and organize a funeral, and her life would move on without Rupert in it. He hadn’t even been hers for very long, in the grand scheme of things. Six months of marriage and three years of a relationship. She’d wanted so much more, and she couldn’t turn down the chance to have it just because she wasn’t completely sure of what she was doing.

“Yes,” she said simply, and headed towards the stairs.

* * *

The stairs had looked like less of a climb than they were turning out to be, and Jenny couldn’t hear any footsteps behind her. It felt pointless, and stupid, and she missed Rupert so much that her chest was starting to hurt. Or, no. She was just winded from the stairs. But everything was still very much on the _not fun_ side of the spectrum.

It might have been better if Jenny didn’t feel so completely alone. Rupert was dead, and Anya was up in the sunlight, and the kids were all at home. She wanted to bring Rupert back for them, too; she knew how much they all loved him, Buffy in particular, and she knew how happy and proud of her they’d all be.

Something stuck with Jenny about that. Was that what she wanted? Did she want Rupert back, or did she want everyone to be smiling at her, Xander cracking some joke about how he always knew Ms. Calendar would bend heaven and hell to get Giles back, but he didn’t know she’d do it just by yelling at a butler guy, Willow hugging her tightly and telling her how amazing she was, Buffy giving her a simple, grateful smile? Was she that selfish?

And if Rupert was dead, then whatever had killed him had taken away the one person Jenny had ever trusted with her worries. He was the only person who could really make her feel comforted and loved, and she’d always done the same for him. She didn’t know if she’d be able to trust herself to love anyone again if she lost him. Very dramatic, yes, but also true.

Jenny could see the sunlight, and she could feel the hopelessness weighing her down. One look wouldn’t hurt. There was no one behind her, anyway, because Rupert wouldn’t want to come back with her, he’d want to stay at peace instead of being dragged back to life by his ultra-clingy wife. She turned on the stairs—

— _no._

Rupert was looking at her. He didn’t look sad, or surprised, he just looked like he loved her.

“No,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “No. No, I’m so sorry, I thought—”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Rupert said softly. “Please, love.”

And then he was gone, and Jenny was standing in sunlight next to broken glass, at the bottom of an empty pool.

She heard footsteps. Anya had come over, and was kneeling down at the edge of the pool, looking down at her sadly. “Oh, Jenny,” she said, and for the first time, she sounded as old as she was. “I’m so sorry.”

Jenny sat down on the bottom of the pool, shaking.

* * *

Orpheus died trying to get Eurydice back the second time, but Jenny wasn’t so foolish as to try and jump headfirst into an empty pool again. She’d been given her chance, and she failed. She had to live with that. The children couldn’t afford to lose both her and Rupert in the span of twenty-four hours.

Anya drove them home. Jenny held onto Rupert’s wedding ring and remembered the look on his face. She hadn’t failed _him_ , she knew. There was some small comfort in that. He’d believed in her and loved her despite her faults and shortcomings—she would just have to try and live up to that love in his eyes.

She pressed her lips to the ring again and remembered placing it on Rupert’s finger, outside City Hall. They’d been walking down the street with the marriage license when he’d tugged at her hand and handed her the ring. She’d laughed and taken his hand, kissing the knuckles before improvising some wedding vows on the spot.

“I won’t,” she said quietly.

“You won’t what?” Anya glanced over at her from the driver’s seat.

“I won’t blame myself.” Jenny smiled a little sadly. “He wanted that for me.”

 

She gave him back his wedding ring at the funeral. She had her own to wear.


End file.
